


Which One

by Honeybee819



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes & Winter Soldier are Different Personalities, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Depression, Fear, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Ouch, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Protective winter, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violence, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29644773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honeybee819/pseuds/Honeybee819
Summary: Sometimes he can see Bucky, in the small glances of pure emotion, in the way he smiles as soon as he wakes up, in the way he hesitates before shooting. It's those little moments that Steve holds on to until their swallowed away by an empty stare and a snarl of Russian. But maybe the empty eyes, the quiet man that Steve is stuck with is just as valuable as the Bucky that Steve knew. Even though Bucky is trapped behind a brick wall, Steve could still work with that.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, The Winter Soldier/Steve Rogers
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

The air outside had frosted over into a fall chill, the colorful ground just starting to freeze. It was just so cold that when someone stepped outside, their chest lifted as they gasped in the cold air, reaching up to adjust coats and shove their shivering hands in their pockets lined with fleece.

Steve only reacted this way out of habit, from a time when he used to struggle to get one good breath in the dry, cold air. Still, the cold made him gasp. 

His callused hands zipped his jacket further up, then they tucked away in his pockets as he entered the apartment building with a shove of his shoulder. When the warm air hit him, he still gave a shake and a huff, stepping to the elevator with the rusty buttons. He could stay in the tower where everything looked pristine, but there was something nostalgic about a worn apartment building. 

Steve appreciated the concern, he couldn’t fault his friends for not wanting him to be alone, but he couldn’t be around everyone all the time. Sometimes he just wanted to sit alone in his armchair and read his book, or stare at the wall, and he didn’t want anyone suggesting therapy every time he did it. 

Steve stepped without thinking, he was just boots hitting the floor, gloves pressing buttons, muscles waiting to be used again. He stepped aside to let another body into the elevator, smiling softly down at the child who stared wide-eyed up at him. 

He reached his floor and stepped out, slow beats down the hall like he was meandering to his apartment. Blue eyes traced the pattern of the carpet, weight pulling down on his shoulders. There were doors leading to his own, so he could claim that he didn’t live alone. He lived with six other doors down the hall, nine other numbers leading to the number on his door. This was not a home in which he could rest, this was instead a place where he waited until he was sent out again. Waited for the next monster to attack the city, waited for the next alien to enter the atmosphere. The pattern weaved in the floor twisted and curved, leading him to his bare door with only a simple gold number on it. 




Steve blew out a breath of air, though it had nothing to do with the relief of the bitter cold. He was just tired. Tired of hearing his phone ring, tired of the pattern on the floor, and tired of the gold numbers on his door and on everyone else’s. He dug through his pocket for his keys and purposely took his time. Once he was safely behind those doors, he’d fall into a state of exhaustion that he never knew how to pull himself out of. 

The gold, worn key slipped into the doorknob, twisted with a click, and the door opened into the apartment. 

What Steve expected to see inside was his dirty dishes stacked up in the sink, the lights off, a plain blue coffee cup filled with cold, stale coffee on the table. He expected to see dark, muddy boot tracks on the tile and in the cream colored carpet, and he expected his clothes to be haphazardly tossed in many different piles. There used to be some sort of clean and dirty system, but not anymore. Now, it was up to his nose to decide which clothes were clean and which were dirty. He couldn’t even remember the last time he did laundry. 

This was what he saw, but there was more. 

Inside his apartment was a man. 

Steve’s eyes widened. 

Not only was it a man, it was a man with stormy blue eyes, with a frown of the century, with long, greasy hair, with a metal arm that reflected the light of the living room lamp. It was an  _ angry _ man, one with a lip curled back in disgust, one with a gun clutched in his flesh hand. It was  _ Bucky  _ with-

_ A gun.  _

The flesh hand jerked up and Steve threw himself to the side in tune with the gunshot, back slamming against the far wall as Bucky charged at him, metal hand flying out to grab at Steve. The metal fingers grabbed at nothing but the cream-colored wall as Steve again had to throw his entire body weight to the side, finding it difficult to breathe for more reasons than one. It reminded him of an asthma attack. 

“Buck-” Steve couldn’t even get the words out as Bucky’s leg came out and caught on his stomach, throwing him against the cabinets lining the kitchen island. Sitting now on the floor, Steve sucked in a breath. In that one breath, Bucky was able to get to him, metal fingers curling around his neck and shoving his head back to slam against the hard wood of the cabinets. Steve met Bucky’s eyes. 

They were empty. 

Not empty as in tired, or sad, but empty as in there was truly nothing there. It was like Bucky wasn’t even looking at Steve, like he was zoned out. There should be a wistful smile that accompanied that far away look, but instead there was only an incredible frown stuck on his lips. Steve couldn’t even be angry, he couldn’t even wish that Bucky wasn’t trying to strangle him. Whether it be being strangled or hugged, Steve was happy to see him. 

He was happy to see him in once piece, although he looked exhausted and pale, his clothes torn and disgusting, if he looked hard enough he could see the dirt caked underneath his nails. Bucky’s lips were chapped and nearly bleeding, and his eyes were bloodshot. Although the metal of the hand was freezing cold, like he’d just been outside, there was a shine of sweat on Bucky’s hairline. None of this would even be something Steve would notice, except now Bucky was inches away from Steve’s face, their noses nearly touching.

It would be romantic if Steve could breathe. 

“You poisoned me.” A gravely, hoarse voice met his ears, but his brain didn’t catch the words. 

“What?” Steve gasped, the metal hand tightening around his throat. He couldn’t breathe. Steve’s hand came up to grip at Bucky’s wrist, trying to pull him off. Of course, the arm wasn’t budging, it was like he was pulling at a metal pole drilled into the wall. The stubble on Bucky’s cheek drifted in and out of focus as Steve’s body shifted into panic mode, legs kicking and fingers clawing for purchase on the arm, trying to get some sort of grip on him. Just as the edges of his vision started to drift out of focus, only then did Bucky loosen his grip on Steve’s throat and allow him to fill his lungs with air like a starved man. 

Steve gasped and coughed, he must have coughed in Bucky’s face but Bucky’s expression never changed. As the spots in his vision and the spots in his train of thought started to come back, he waited for Bucky to repeat himself. He had said something, hadn’t he? Steve was only met with crushing, deafening silence. 

Steve was afraid to say anything, worried that he’d set Bucky off. So they sat there. Bucky knelt down in front of Steve, the heavy weight of his hand against his skin and Steve sat still like he was looking into the eyes of a lion ready to pounce. It felt like a lifetime that they started each other down. At least now Bucky was letting him breathe. Steve waited until his own chest rose and fell at a steady rhythm to try and process what had just happened. 

What had he said? 

_ You poisoned me.  _

Steve didn’t have the slightest idea what Bucky would have meant by that, they hadn’t seen each other since the helicarrier. Since Bucky’s metal fist slammed into Steve’s face more times than he could count. To be honest, he hadn’t thought that he’d ever see Bucky again, there was no likely chance. Bucky left him on the muddy riverbank and he’d walked away. Honestly, Steve was almost hoping that he wouldn’t ever see Bucky again, although he yearned for him to return home. Bucky needed the time to himself, despite how Steve wanted to gather him up in his arms and never let go. None of that would have ever led Steve to poison Bucky, and even if he wanted to, he’d never even had the chance. 

“I didn’t poison you.” Short and to the point though it isn’t what Steve wanted to say. 

Evidently it was the wrong thing to say anyways. 

Bucky pulled his metal hand forward and shoved it out again, pulling Steve’s head forward and then slamming it back against the counter again. He had stars in his eyes at that point, a pounding headache and an ache in the back of his teeth. Steve didn’t make a noise, but his eyes did shut tight for a painful moment before opening again to look back at empty eyes. 

“You  _ did _ , you knew I’d drink it. You  _ knew _ .” Bucky snarled, the deep tone he spoke with was trembling with either anger or fear. Maybe both, Steve wasn’t sure. Again, Bucky’s clarification only gave Steve more questions.

“I didn’t-” 

“Be quiet.” 

Steve’s lips snapped shut with a quiet click of his teeth. He wanted to ask, to clear up the confusion, but he knew that if he pushed too far that Bucky would leave and Steve would never see him again. His stomach twisted at the thought. 

In a blink, Bucky’s metal hand was gone from Steve’s neck and Steve brought his own hand up to replace it, rubbing where he could still feel the metal pressing into his skin, nearly crushing his windpipe. Bucky stays crouched in front of him, and Steve stays sitting there, but there was no more physical connection between the two of them. Steve wishes that there was. 

Several beats of silence passed. 

“Say something.” Bucky snapped, angry again. Steve couldn’t keep up with Bucky’s train of thought. 

“You told me to be quiet,” Steve began carefully, itching to find out what poison Bucky was talking about. The only thing he felt like he could do was follow Bucky’s lead in conversation. If this could even be called conversation. “Are you alright?”

“Don’t say  _ that _ .” Bucky hissed, though it almost sounded like he was complaining. Like he was going to roll his eyes, let his tongue wet his lips, and smile at Steve. It felt like just yesterday when Steve felt this exasperated all of the time, still just chasing after Bucky who seemed to be miles ahead of him. It felt the same. 

Steve’s chest grew heavy with a dull, bone numbing ache. He took in a breath to respond but Bucky was already moving again. The dark figure stood from the crouch, stepping to the door and shutting it with a wall-shaking slam. Steve reacted to the noise, eyebrows pushing together as he watched Bucky twist the deadbolt so hard that he was sure Bucky was going to break the lock. 

“Easy Buck, the neighbors are going to-”

“I don’t care.” Bucky snapped back, leaving the entryway with a huff of his breath. Steve scrambled to get his feet under him, having to grab at the counter to haul himself up, palm pressing down as he leaned his weight on it once he was standing. That kick really did a number on his stomach, it might have cracked a couple of ribs. The man could kick. 

“You might not care, but I care, and-”

“Shut up-”

“Stop interrupting me, Bucky, I’m trying to-” 

The flesh hand with the gun was raised again as Steve met him in the living room. Steve stood on one side of the couch, and Bucky stood on the other. In between them was Steve’s makeshift bed, where he slept when he couldn’t sleep. The cushions were worn and the spot where Steve had slept just the night before was indented into the couch still. The comforter that was more of a patchwork quilt was balled up at the end of the couch by the arm where he’d kicked it towards his feet when he woke that morning. On the floor beside the couch was a pile of empty chip bags and wrappers. 

Once upon a time Steve Rogers was a neat person. When he needed to maintain the household for him and one other person who worked his ass off and didn’t need to come home to a messy house. Back then Steve couldn’t just sit on his ass and have pneumonia, he had to clean and have pneumonia. Broken lungs and ears and- well everything- didn’t mean he couldn’t scrub the grime off of the windows. 

Now, he was alone. He didn’t have anyone coming home to see him after a day at the docks, and the only person he had to impress was himself. Which meant the place was a bit of a mess. 

He’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t staring down the barrel of Bucky’s gun. Again. 

The flesh finger curled around the trigger before Steve could react.

_ Click.  _

Steve’s entire body was tense, shivering from the draft in the apartment. Eyes screwed shut, he waited for Bucky to blow his brains onto the walls for telling him not to interrupt. He should apologize.  _ You can interrupt me if you want to,  _ Steve wanted to say,  _ Please interrupt me. I’m sorry.  _

But the shot never came. With a breath, Steve opened his eyes. Bucky was staring back at him, looking frustrated. 

He’d run out of bullets. 

Steve was stunned. He didn’t know what to say, and even if he did, he didn’t want to speak anymore. The only reason he still had a life right now was because Bucky happened to run out of bullets in his gun. Nausea twisted in his stomach along with the heart-racing feeling of relief that he could still breathe air. 

Steve shivered again. It was then that he realized the window to the fire escape was opened. No wonder Steve felt like he could see his breath in the air. No wonder Bucky’s arm was so cold. Steve’s gaze flicked to the window, then to Bucky, then down at the mess that sat between them. Bucky lowered his gun. 

“You were going to kill me for that?” Steve couldn’t help himself. He was met with nothing but a blank, empty stare. Bucky turned towards the window and Steve nearly broke. He couldn’t let Bucky go again, what if he never saw him again? What if Bucky was gone for good this time, deciding that Steve was going to poison him? And chastise him for interrupting? Why would Bucky want to come back to Steve if he thought that’s how it was going to go every time? “Wait, don’t go- Bucky I’m sorry, I didn’t poison you, I don’t know what you’re talking about but we can talk this out. Just  _ stay _ , please Bucky, stay.” 

Steve felt like a child clutching onto their favorite stuffed animal as it’s taken from them, but he didn’t know what else to do besides beg him not to go. They couldn’t end it this way, they couldn’t. 

Bucky’s jaw worked, and for a second Steve could swear Bucky was considering it. Just as soon as he thought he saw conflict in those eyes, they were empty again and Bucky was gone. He stepped out the window and disappeared. In the time it took Steve to step around the couch with the mess, he already knew when he leaned out the window that he wouldn’t see Bucky there. Still, he rushed over, and he stuck his head out, and gasped because of the cold. 

Just like he thought, Bucky was gone again. 


	2. Chapter 2

“He was here Sam,” Steve paced in his bedroom the day after he’d seen the barrel of Bucky’s gun. The day after he felt the metal fingers curling around his throat, the growling voice in his ear and the glare from those familiar eyes. It had left him breathless, like he was pulled again to reach out to Bucky and grab him before he slipped away. Though he did slip anyways. When it came down to it, he couldn’t stop Bucky from going. The only thing he could do was stand there and watch the silhouette of Bucky Barnes step out into the cold air and disappear into the bustling noise of the city. 

Somehow Steve thought that even if they were in the middle of nowhere, he probably still wouldn’t be able to find Bucky once he stepped out that window. They didn’t call him a ghost for nothing. 

“Okay, so he was there,” Sam’s voice sounded in his ear through the phone Steve pressed to the side of his face, gripping it so hard that he kept accidentally hitting the sound buttons and turning the audio way up. Wincing, he clicked the button to lower the volume. “Did he say anything? Do anything?” 

Steve looked to the bed, then to the bedroom window, then back out to the hall. He couldn’t go back out there after having just seen Bucky in the room. Now the place was going to seem empty. He was going to start looking for the dark figure in every room he walked in. Steve stayed in the bedroom. 

At least in here there wasn’t a twisted pattern in the carpet, there wasn't a gold number staring back at him, placing him in the one apartment with the one number he didn’t want to be reminded of. It wasn’t the hallway, and it wasn’t work. It was a bedroom and now he didn’t want to be in the kitchen and the living room either. 

The mess in front of the couch was going to laugh at him, and the dishes in the sink too. The empty coffee cup in the kitchen stares holes in his head. 

“He did a lot of things.” The cold hand closing, he couldn’t breathe,  _ poison _ ,  _ shut up _ ,  _ say something _ ,  _ click _ , gone. “He...tried to kill me.” 

“Steve-”

“Twice.” Technically three times, Steve stared down the barrel twice and had his throat crushed, but who was counting. 

A sigh through the phone brought Steve back to it. He hated that sigh, the sigh that told him that he needed to give up on this. This wasn’t something he could die for, those empty eyes were unforgiving and Steve was going to get himself killed trying to get him to stay. He knew that. 

But wasn’t it worth it? Wasn’t Bucky worth it? 

“This is dangerous.” Sam grumbled, his voice suddenly growing low and quiet like there were others around him who could hear the now sensitive conversation. Sam said it, but Steve knew this. There was nothing about Bucky Barnes that wasn’t dangerous. Even way back when they were young, Bucky was always dangerous with his eyes that spoke mischief and his smirk that make knees weak. This time was just a different kind of dangerous. 

“Yeah I know, but I can handle a couple of bullet wounds. I’ve gone through much worse, Sam. I’m not afraid of him.” Steve’s hackles rose like he was gearing for a fight with his friend. He was always looking for a fight, that was for sure. 

“That’s not what I mean, Steve,” Sam murmured. Steve could hear rustling and a soft huff like Sam was getting up and moving somewhere. It was probably best that no one heard the conversation they were having. If the wrong person knew where Bucky had visited, then Shield would try to bug his apartment, add cameras and traps. Steve couldn’t have that, and without even discussing it, Sam understood too. “I mean this is dangerous for you. Mentally.”

Steve’s nose scrunched up. 

“What?”

“Nothing. Be careful, Steve. Did he do anything else besides try to kill you? Twice?” 

Steve frowned, wishing they could circle back to what Sam meant. He’d touched on a subject that Steve wasn’t ready to hear, wasn’t ready to process. Maybe opening his heart and mind to the possibility of having Bucky back wasn’t in his best interest. No, that was not anything Steve was ever going to allow himself to consider. Bucky was worth all of the energy he had. 

“Yeah, he uh...he told me that I poisoned him.” Steve frowned, digging through his dresser to pull out a pair of socks and pull him on his feet, sandwiching the phone between his ear and his shoulder. 

“He- what? Did you?”

“Sam.”

“Sorry. Thought I would ask. That’s weird.” Sam sounded like he wore the same frown as Steve, both of them pondering the idea of how Bucky could have gotten the idea in his head that Steve could hurt Bucky, let alone poison him. “Can you super soldier-folk even get poisoned?”

Steve hadn’t thought of that. Theoretically no, since he couldn’t remember the last time he’d even been able to get drunk, though he couldn’t remember a time when anyone had attempted to poison him. Steve was quiet as he thought, wondering if Bucky’s version of the serum would allow him to be susceptible to poison. It was unlikely.

“Probably not.” Steve sat down on his bed, which was just as a mess as the couch. He was pretty sure there was more garbage in the bedroom than there was in that small section of the living room. Steve kicked an empty gatorade bottle with his toe, watching as it rolled until it hit all of the other gatorade bottles in the far side of the room. He nearly had to squint to see them, the shadows took them over although it was nearly midday. Steve stood and pulled the decorated curtains to let some natural light in. 

“Well, maybe he’ll figure that out on his own when he doesn’t foam out the mouth with poison that doesn’t exist.” Sam huffed a laugh that Steve didn’t return.

“Yeah, maybe.” Steve stood, even though he’d just found a place to sit. He moved to the windowsill, brushing off the build up of dirt and dust onto the floor where it would remain until he decided to vacuum. 

“Be careful, Steve.” Sam warned before they said their goodbyes and hung up.

The apartment was silent again, and he could hear the dirty coffee cup laughing at him from the kitchen. He didn’t understand what it was about that cup that made him want to hurl it at the wall. Maybe it was because he used it to try and stay awake but instead it just made him more tired. Maybe it was for something else. 

Steve stayed in the bedroom until his bladder forced him down the hall to the bathroom. He avoided the mirror. 

Would Bucky come back? Was he sick? Was there some sort of poison running through his system that Steve didn’t know about? 

After using the bathroom, washing his hands, and giving in to brush his teeth, he ventured out into the living room. The walls seemed too closed in, too close to his broad shoulders although he had more than enough room to move around. It was the first time stepping out from the hall since the night before, he’d spent the entire morning locked in his room. 

The coffee cup was there, along with the dishes in the sink. The pile of garbage next to the couch remained unchanged and the window was shut, but not locked. The room was empty all besides Steve. Something had changed though. 

If Bucky had been here, that means he might come back. Which also meant that the place was better off being clean. Steve couldn’t just stand there and stare at the piles anymore, he couldn’t just drift through the apartment without letting his feet touch the floor. Not if Bucky was coming home. 

With a new resolve, Steve opened the cupboards and pulled out trash bags, scooping up the empty bottles and cans, the chip bags and newspapers. He started by the couch, the last place Bucky stood. It took energy, but it was energy that he was willing to spend on Bucky. He could clean, even though he’d rather lay down and stay there. Once the bags of garbage were piled by the door, it seemed easier to do everything else. 

He folded the blankets, washed the dishes, and pulled the curtains. There was still dirt and dust, but he wasn’t ready to clean up the muddy boot prints. Most of all of them were his but there was one print by the window, only because there was carpet right underneath. It wasn’t Steve’s boot print. Steve wasn’t ready to clean those up. 

Steve grabbed the plastic garbage bags that nearly fell from his hands as he tried to pick them all up at once. The edges of the garbage he’d shoved in there was one bad shift away from ripping the bag and spilling out the contents on the floor, but he yanked it through the doorway anyways. He let the door shut behind him, walked down the hall to the garbage chute, and set the bags down. It took three pulls of the chute to get rid of all of the bags, but once they were gone, Steve felt lighter. Even the pattern on the carpet and the golden numbers on the doors didn’t affect him the way it had last night. At least now he was going to be returning to an apartment that wasn’t riddled with garbage. 

Steve turned and walked back down, passing the rest of the doors of his neighbors and he returned to his apartment. He turned the knob. The knob didn’t move. 

Steve stilled, looking down at his hand which gripped the entrance to the room, which wouldn’t turn. He’d  _ just _ left to put the trash in the chute, and now the door wouldn’t open for him to return.

He didn’t lock the door, he didn’t have the hands to do so when he’d left in the first place. There were about five or six trash bags clutched in his fists, he couldn’t have even locked the door if he wanted to without putting the bags down first. 

Steve jiggled the knob again, and was surprised again when it wouldn’t open.  _ It wouldn’t open.  _

So who locked it? 

Steve brought a hesitant hand to the door and knocked just under the gold  _ 310\.  _ It was ridiculous knocking on his own door to his apartment, his home. But if there was a chance that...that Bucky locked the door. He didn’t want to alarm the man. 

There was only silence in return. Steve took a hesitant breath that filled his lungs, then he emptied them into the air with a quiet sigh. Still, just silence. 

Steve wet his lips with his tongue, turning to look down the hall, then facing back towards the door, turning his head a little to try and hear inside. Silence. 

_ Click _

Steve blinked, expecting to see the barrel of a gun, but instead he still stared at the closed door and the golden numbers. The click came from the lock. Steve turned the knob slowly and pushed open the door. Again, Bucky stood there like a brick wall, in the middle of the entryway that led into the living room. At least now Steve didn’t have to be embarrassed by the mess he’d left there. Maybe if the blankets were folded and there was less garbage that Bucky wouldn’t leave again. 

Steve was surprised to see him after just one day since the last time. He’d half expected to go an entire year without seeing Bucky again. 

“Hey, Buck,” Steve stepped into the apartment, closing and locking the door behind him. “Thank you for letting me in.” 

Bucky’s lips stayed screwed shut, his murderous stare stuck to the center of Steve’s chest nearly making Steve look down to make sure there was nothing there. The temperature in the apartment was starting to drop- Bucky had left the window open again. Maybe they could talk about leaving the window open, but it didn’t matter all that much. Bucky could interrupt Steve and he could leave the window open, just as long as he stayed. 

This time Bucky didn’t interrupt at all. In fact, he didn’t say anything. He was stuck in silence, standing there as if he were staring holes into Steve’s body. Steve wondered what was going on behind those empty eyes. At least he came back. At least he looked better too, the sheen of sweat was gone and he looked a tad bit more hydrated. If he’d been poisoned he’d end up looking worse by the day, not better. He wouldn’t have color to his cheeks, and a warmth in his lips. 

“How do you feel?” Steve asked quietly, trying to coax Bucky into talking to him. He stood with his back to the door still, not stepping forward in hopes that he wouldn’t scare Bucky off. It was like holding his hands out to a rabid dog, making no sudden movements and trying to keep eye contact. But Bucky wouldn’t meet his eyes. 

He didn’t respond to that either. Still silent. 

“I didn’t poison you, Bucky.” Steve brought back the claim Bucky had made the day before, still worried that Bucky would think Steve had done something to hurt him. Bucky’s eyes snapped up to Steve’s as soon as the words passed his lips. For a moment, Steve wished that he’d been able to shove the words back down his throat. Bucky just looked  _ so angry _ . Steve’s stomach grew icy cold which spread all the way down to his fingertips. 

“You did.” Bucky ground out, words hissed through his bared teeth. The metal fist clenched and relaxed, then clenched again. Steve didn’t move a muscle. They  _ had  _ to talk about this, Steve needed BUcky to know, and he also needed to know the truth from Bucky. What happened? 

“No,” Steve began carefully, like Indiana Jones trying to decide on a spot to step to get him to the other side. “I didn’t.” Bucky grew agitated, looking about the room like he was going to fid the proof somewhere. Steve stalked his eye movements, trying to find a spot where they lingered, but they didn’t. He thought maybe he could find a spot in the apartment where Bucky had thought there was hidden poison, some sort of flask that Steve knew didn’t exist. He didn’t want to invalidate whatever Bucky thought, but there was no way Steve had ever thought to poison his best friend. “You don’t look poisoned, Buck.” 

Misstep. 

Bucky’s eyes snapped to Steve’s again, face twisted in anger and frustration. He turned and walked towards the living room, towards the rusted, open window. Steve’s throat tightened, and he felt like he was being strangled again except Bucky’s hand was nowhere near his neck. 

“ _ No, please! _ Bucky, don’t go,” Steve scrambled after him, knocking his shoulder against the wall as he tripped over his own feet. He braced a hand against the doorway, getting to the room just as Bucky hit the window. Bucky stopped. Steve held his breath. 

Bucky turned back to Steve with cold, calculating eyes. His lips were pressed in a firm line, and from all the way across the room, Steve could tell that his jaw was clenched so tight that he was sure Bucky’s teeth ached. He was one step away from stepping out of the window, and Steve saw what he was doing. He was giving Steve one chance to try and save himself, one chance to haul himself back up on the puzzle of steps or else Bucky was gone. Steve’s chest rose and fell rapidly, mouth opening and closing as he tried to think of how he could save it. How he could make Bucky stay. 

“Tell me, I believe you, you were poisoned. Okay, fine.  _ Tell me _ what happened, Buck, I have food- clean food- I’ll eat it first if you want, just  _ stay, _ please.” There were a lot of steps in that long sentence, but Bucky stayed for each one of them. None of them were missteps, thank goodness, but Bucky’s expression didn’t change either. He didn’t relax, nor did he move from the window. He just stared. 

Steve picked through everything he’d just said to Bucky to try and figure out which thing was the catch for Bucky. Which thing had made him hesitate and tempted him to stay.

“I swear I’ve got clean food, I promise, come sit and I can make you something.” Steve tried again, and saw more hesitation in those eyes. That was it, that was the kicker. The food. Of course Bucky had to be hungry, Steve didn’t know if he’d eaten, or if he was afraid to be poisoned again, or if he struggled in general to eat. Steve took a breath, and turned towards the kitchen, grabbing out some bread and sliced ham with cheese to make some sandwiches. He didn’t beg Bucky to follow him, nor did he turn around to see if Bucky was even still there. Instead, he just assembled four sandwiches, one for himself and three for Bucky. 

He forced himself to lay out all the pieces, lay down all of the ham slices, spread the mayo and add cheese, all without turning around. It was like torture, not being able to turn and look at those stormy grey eyes again. Steve half expected to be left alone with four sandwiches to eat. Finally, he finished the two plates and he turned. 

Bucky was sitting at the table. 

Steve sighed in quiet relief, his jaw unclenching

The dirty coffee cup was still there as Steve placed the plates down on the table. Bucky eyed the food, desire in his eyes. It seemed like he was holding himself back from reaching out to dig in, and Steve didn’t know how to reassure him besides hoping that Bucky would trust him enough to feed him. 

“It’s alright, they’re clean.” Steve picked up his own and took a bite, chewing and swallowing to show Bucky. “See?” 

Silent eyes stared at Steve as he put his sandwich back down on the plate, one bite taken out of it. Bucky looked down at his own plate with three, untouched sandwiches. In one swift movement, Bucky reached out to Steve’s plate and slid it towards himself, replacing Steve’s plate with the one he’d given to Bucky. Steve raised his eyebrows in surprise when Bucky stole his plate, switching their meals.

Before Steve could say anything, he was even more stunned when Bucky picked up the sandwich that had the bite taken out of it, and he devoured it. Bucky took bites big enough to choke, and was done with the sandwich in less than a minute, mayonnaise smeared on his chin. Blinking, Steve reached back and grabbed a couple of napkins for himself and Bucky. As the metal hand grabbed at the napkin to clean himself up, his eyes flickered from Steve’s down to the plate that he’d given him. 

_ Oh.  _

Steve looked down at his plate with the three sandwiches meant for Bucky. One at a time, he picked each one up and took a bite from them. One bite out of each. On the last bite that he swallowed, he looked back across the table to Bucky who was waiting patiently. Steve slid the plate back over to him, and just like the first sandwich, they were all devoured in record time. Bucky really was worried about poison, wasn’t he? Steve shifted in his chair, unsettled. 

“Why do you think I poisoned you, Buck?” Steve murmured, tone barely above a whisper. Slowly, Bucky’s eyes dragged up to Steve's as he shoved the last bit of food into his mouth, and he stayed silent. Always so silent. Then, in an instant, Bucky pushed himself up from the table, and moved towards the window. Steve tried again, calling out to Bucky, trying to beg him to stay, but this time Bucky didn’t hesitate. 

He was gone, back out of the window. 

Steve sighed miserably, looking back to the two empty plates on Bucky’s side of the table. He grabbed the plates and the empty mug that had been sitting there and took all three to the kitchen to sit in the newly-washed sink. Maybe tomorrow he’d come back, and they could get further. Baby steps. 


	3. Chapter 3

Steve retreated to his room that night, and he didn’t turn on his box fan, nor did he put in earbuds and try to tune out the world with music recommended to him. Instead, he was listening through the steady silence, trying to pick out anything out of place, hoping for the sound of the window sliding upwards and the sound of quiet boot thumps in the living room. He thought that maybe if he stayed in the bedroom with the door shut, that Bucky would come back, that he would maybe rest on the couch and Steve would see him in the morning with the sun on his face. 

It was highly unlikely, though. 

Steve started to drift off, his mind blurring at the edges, twisting his thoughts into incoherence as he laid on the soft comforter, his shoes still on. If Bucky did come, Steve wanted to be prepared. That meant having his shoes on in bed, and the fan and music off. 

It was just as the moonlight came in the window that Steve had realized he’d fallen asleep, and he woke with a start, eyes snapping open. His throat constricted to let out a groan, hand coming up to rub at his neck, but the sound died in his throat. Steve’s lips parted soundlessly. 

_ Clink clink! _

There was a noise in the kitchen. 

Immediately he knew who it was, but the sound of metal plates recalibrating with a mechanical whir hit his ears, and he was positive. Bucky had come back after only hours of being away. He’d come back, and was in the kitchen. 

What was he doing? 

Steve didn’t want to breathe, blink, or even move an inch knowing that Bucky’s hearing was just as sensitive and enhanced as his own. Every time he breathed, he felt that the rough sound of fabric against his skin was even too loud. The sound of the air being sucked in his throat sounded ear-splitting when it came to being silent to prevent Bucky from leaving. 

He didn’t know how long he laid there, willing himself to stay awake and he listened to Bucky’s movements. Faintly, he could hear Bucky breathing too, inhale through the nose and exhale out the mouth, like he was trying to keep himself calm. Steve could hear the clink of cupboards and drawers being opened and closed, the sound of cups being slid side to side like Bucky was trying to find something. Then the click of the fridge being opened and every container being moved and shifted around. 

Click, the fridge closed and suddenly there was silence. Steve thought for sure he was found out, maybe it was the sound of him swallowing his saliva, or his breath changing in rhythm. Just as Steve was going to risk going out there, the quiet movement continued and Steve resisted a sigh of relief.

Bucky hadn’t noticed that Steve was awake. 

Steve heard a lid to a jar being opened, and a couple of mechanical clicks, as if Bucky were pushing buttons on something. There were two clinks, followed by a third, and then the sound of something being poured out. Steve already knew that Bucky was making a mess in there, it sounded like he’d dumped  _ a lot _ of something out onto the counter. It wasn’t like he was going to be upset over it, messes could be cleaned, but he wished he knew what it was that Bucky was looking for. 

If Steve knew, he could help Bucky find it. 

It sort of sounded like rice being poured out and sifted through, which...made no sense. He could be making rice, the mechanical buttons and everything, but...the water wasn’t running. Bucky would need water if he was going to make rice in the- _ shhhhh!  _ The sound of the faucet being turned on surprised Steve. Bucky was no longer trying to be quiet. Which meant he either didn’t think Steve was there, or he knew that Steve was awake. 

Steve looked down at himself. Of course. The shoes. Bucky must think he’s out somewhere, Steve hadn’t ever worn his shoes to bed before, he had no reason to. So if Bucky was observing him all this time, he’d know that Steve’s shoes fit snug next to the door on their own little placemat so that the snow doesn’t melt into a pool of water on his hardwood floor. 

But then again, his wallet was out there on the counter, and he never left the apartment without that. So it could very well be that Bucky did know that he was awake and was no longer trying to be so quiet anymore. 

Steve carefully pulled his elbows up and pushed off his forearms to sit up, waiting for the sound of water to go away. He still heard it, pooling in the sink and washing down the drain. As he swung his legs around the side, he heard a container being put in the sink and held under the water, collecting it. Maybe he was filling up a canteen or some sort of water bottle. Maybe he was taking rice with him, but that didn’t explain the buttons. 

Steve stood up on his feet, moving slow and in increments. Moving too quickly or doing too much at once was going to cause Bucky to run again, but Steve wanted to see what he was doing. If it ended up that Bucky was looking for food to take, filling up on supplies, Steve wanted to be out there to encourage him, and to find out what Bucky needed.

When he still didn’t hear the sound of the faucet end, he stepped to the door, knowing now that if Bucky were listening, he’d be able to hear Steve. Still, there were no hurried footsteps to the window, no Russian swearing, no escape. Bucky was in the apartment and now he knew Steve was awake and present and he wasn’t leaving yet. It was all a very good sign for Steve. 

The doorknob twisted with a small click, Steve opened the door. Again, he waited to see if Bucky was going to run. When he didn’t Steve stepped out into the hall, his boots tapping against the wood floor. Still, Bucky didn’t run. 

Making it to the edge of the hall, Steve leaned around the wall to peek into the kitchen. 

There were  _ coffee grounds  _ dumped out on the counter. Steve thought it was rice, but he could see now that they made relatively the same sound. Not only were they dumped out on the counter, there were also little hills and lines made in the pile, as if someone had run their fingers through it. Steve’s eyes tracked a path to the left, landing on Bucky’s large frame bent over the counter, staring intently at the coffee maker. It dawned on Steve that the coffee maker was the source of the clicking buttons. 

Bucky was trying to make coffee. 

“I can’t figure it out.” The man grunted in a low, gruff voice. Steve blinked, creating pinched waved between his eyebrows as confusion curled in his thoughts. What in the world would Bucky need with coffee? The man had liked to drink it when they were younger, but Steve didn’t think that the desire had carried over all of these years, especially considering their coffee back then had been mostly watered down with no sugar. 

Bucky had hated drinking coffee with no sugar though. 

“You- okay,” The last time Steve questioned anything Bucky was doing or saying, the man ended up leaving in a huff of frustration. It was now a new rule- don’t question anything Bucky does or says, just go with it and hope he’ll figure it out or that Bucky will eventually explain. “Can I come over and see?”

Bucky set his jaw. For a moment, Steve thought he was going to say no. There was just so much silence, such a big pause before Bucky moved away from the machine to stand a few steps away. Steve approached. He’d mostly done everything right, just was hitting the wrong buttons.

Steve pressed the right button, and watched as the coffee started to drip down into the pot. He stepped back, looking over at Bucky whose face was mostly hidden behind his hair. Steve thought that if he stared any harder at the machine that it would certainly blow up into pieces. 

“There, it’ll take a while to brew, but it’s working.”

Bucky stepped up to the machine, bending down with his forearms on the counter as he watched it drip by drip. It was like watching a statue the way Bucky was so stiff and still. The window was wide open, letting in gusts of air that was eventually going to chill the apartment. Steve didn’t know if he should stand there and watch Bucky who was watching the coffee brew, or if he should try to make himself busy. Bucky’s quiet voice suddenly cut into his thoughts. 

“What do you put in it?” He always spoke so softly, like he was going to break every glass in the house from talking too loud. It took Steve a moment to connect the dots that Bucky was talking about the coffee, expecting him to bring up anything else. Like the poison situation.

“Sometimes creamer, usually just a bit of sugar.” Steve responded, leaning against the doorway now, crossing his arms as he watched Bucky.  _ Why _ , he wanted to ask. Why did it matter what he put in it? The point of all of this couldn’t possibly be just so that Bucky could have himself a cup of coffee, could it? He bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from asking more questions. The last thing he wanted was to agitate his friend. 

“What activates the poison?”

Steve nearly missed the words, his thoughts short circuiting. 

_ What activates the poison? _

What the hell did that mean? 

Suddenly it all hit Steve like a brick in the face. When he’d left home a couple of days ago, he’d had maybe half a cup of coffee before heading to the tower for a mission debriefing. The rest of it had sat on his counter, getting cold as it was forgotten about. When Steve returned home,  _ the cup was empty.  _ It hadn’t dawned on him then that there should still be half a cup of cold coffee on the table, he’d just thrown the empty cup in the sink to be washed. Bucky had  _ broken in  _ and  _ drank  _ the rest of the coffee that Steve had left behind. 

One after the other, the realizations kept coming. Steve was speechless. 

_ Jesus this stuff tastes nasty without sugar, you sure we don’t even have a nickel laying around somewhere? Tastes like poison.  _

Steve felt like a sixteen year old kid again. Bucky hated the taste of coffee without the sugar. Sucking in a sharp breath, he nearly fell to his knees, legs not struggling to hold up the weight of the memories on his shoulders. His hand went out to grip at the doorway, struggling to swallow his saliva even, he couldn’t do anything but stare. 

In the silence, Bucky turned his head slightly to look at Steve, a frown pulling at his lips, eyes slightly narrowed. He was waiting impatiently for Steve’s answer and the longer he took, the more suspicious it seemed. 

“Buck.  _ Bucky _ .” Steve breathed, struggling to even put two words together to explain. There was no poison in the drink, Bucky just remembered  _ saying  _ that when he didn’t like the taste. He must only have the vague idea of linking bad coffee to poison, because he obviously didn’t realize there was nothing truly harmful in a bitter cup of coffee. 

Bucky’s frown grew deeper. 

“You- I- Oh god,” Steve ran both of his hands up through his hair, taking a moment to think about how he was going to say this. How he was going to convince Bucky that he was remembering a bit of his past, and that Steve would never hurt him. He’d been  _ so convinced _ that he’d been poisoned, Steve didn’t know how to unravel that. “Do...do you remember how you’d say that bitter coffee tastes like poison?”

“It  _ is  _ poison, he said.” Bucky corrected, his metal arm closing into a fist. Steve took a careful breath.  _ He _ said. As if he wasn’t the same person that Steve was talking about. 

“You did say that. You said it was poison. You weren’t  _ serious _ , Buck, you...don’t you remember drinking it anyways?” Steve gently reminded him, trying to imply that if it was truly poison, he wouldn’t be standing here today. As he spoke, he could see the gears turning in Bucky’s head, his eyes unfocused, turned back to the coffee maker. 

For a long time, they were standing in silence again. If Steve didn’t know better, he’d say that Bucky didn’t actually hear him. It was impossible given their enhanced hearing, but he was still unsure. Given everything, Steve was going to have to get used to Bucky’s prolonged silences. 

After coming to the conclusion that Bucky wasn’t actually ever going to answer him, he was surprised by the sound of his voice again. 

“I see.” 

Thank goodness. 

There was nothing within him that would have ever harmed his friend, and he hoped that Bucky saw that now. If not knowing it in general, he was glad to know that Bucky wouldn’t expect him to  _ poison _ his drink. 

“Good. I can make it how you’d like it, if you want to. But...it’s dehydrating. If you haven’t eaten, it might make you feel strange. Have you eaten, Buck?” Steve asked quietly, wanting to prove to Bucky that coffee tasted much better now that he had the money to spend on the stuff to make it taste better. If he wanted to, he could make it taste somewhat like a dessert. Again, Bucky didn’t answer him right away. 

Silently, his head turned from side to side.  _ No.  _

That left a bad taste in Steve’s mouth, but he didn’t comment. He moved past Bucky and to the fridge where he got the tortillas, chicken, and cheese out, planning on making them some quesadillas. Bucky was set on standing right there in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the coffeemaker so Steve just worked around him. When he got close, he could smell cigarette smoke on Bucky’s clothes. He didn’t say anything about that either. 

Soon the apartment was filled with the sounds of the tortillas sizzling on the non-stick pan, Steve filled two plates with several of them. Hopefully they would fill Bucky for a while until he decided to come back so Steve could feed him again. Once Steve set the plates down, Bucky finally moved from his spot in the kitchen to sit in his spot at the table. Just like last time, they sat at opposite ends of the table. Steve prepared to take bites of his own food to switch with Bucky again, but was surprised when Bucky started to dig into his food without hesitation.

Steve didn’t know if that was because of his trust that Steve wouldn’t poison him, or the desperation for food outweighing his fear of poison. He didn’t let himself think about it for too long. 

Unlike Bucky, Steve took his time with his food, only finishing one by the time Bucky was through with his entire plate. Steve’s heart started to beat faster in anticipation. 

“You can stay, you can sleep on the couch, I’ll make you breakfast in the morning and make the coffee how you like-” Steve let the dam break, desperately asking for Bucky to stay, but he was already on his feet and headed for the window.

Steve sighed and put his head in his hands when he heard the sound of the window shutting and silence filled the apartment again. 

  
  
  



End file.
